I've been trying to crack the slippery carapace of what I knew were going to be some bright jewels of poems.
Almost all of them, save two, have gone through at least 10 drafts (which is actually quite a low number--I'm normally in the 20s or 30s). There were two particularly hard stones that shined in some places and were cloudy and dull in others. I had the concept, the rhythm, the music. But something CRUCIAL was missing. I wrote around it, I expanded and expounded. I fretted and worried at my keyboard. It didn't help.
I decided that I needed another set of eyes that would maybe, hopefully spark on something that I had overlooked, some speck of black that was really a diamond inside (or a split and dripping fig, or a pat of melted butter).
I handed over one of the stones and was given a word. That word was what I was missing. It unfastened the belt, pulled down the zipper, exposed the gleaming belly of my poem.
There's no better feeling in my world that to know you've got it and you've got it good.
If you're interested in hearing the poem I'm referring to, come to Grub Gone...Blue on Friday night or stay tuned...it just might appear on the Interwebs sometime soon.